


Orderly Line

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [140]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 23:05:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4684634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt for drst -  Waiting in line for coffee. He wasn’t used to waiting in lines for anything pre-island era, and there wasn’t a lot of waiting in lines during those five years, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands or his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orderly Line

For the most part, despite being six feet of muscle and carefully cultivated charm, Oliver could blend in perfectly whether they were in a Starbucks on Rodeo Drive, or a truck stop cafe in the middle of the desert.

The only time the performance failed was when Oliver had to wait in line. Which meant that Felicity made him do it as often as she could get away with on their cross-country roadtrip.

It was, she told herself as she propped her chin on her fist and settled in to watch the show from their table, for his own damn good.

Oliver could lie on a shipping container in freezing rain all night to hit a mark, but make him wait for more than thirty seconds in a public queue and he immediately started shifting his weight slightly, craning to see if the line had moved an inch every few seconds. He still hadn’t gotten into the habit of checking his phone - Felicity was the one in the partnership with cellphone separation anxiety, and if it was important, everyone knew to text her first - so it took him a minute or two to think to pull it out like everyone else in the queue had.

That brought him to what Felicity thought of as Stage Two of Oliver Queen’s School of Queuing. To Oliver, a cellphone was a tool, a way to give orders, and occasionally, if Thea was bored, a minor annoyance. 

Despite all this time, he still hadn’t discovered Candy Crush, or even Angry Birds.

Actually, now that she thought about it, Oliver would either kill or get unspeakably frustrated with Angry Birds, and she made a mental note to load it onto his phone at the next opportunity.

As yet, though, he was stupidly game-less, and so usually moved quickly onto Stage Three. Which involved giving in to his urge to do a tactical visual sweep of the room. For the most part, Stage Three was harmless, and usually kept Oliver occupied until he got to the front of the line.

Unless, that is, Oliver found a target. Like that poor sap who tried to hit on Felicity while she was waiting at their table at that cafe in Portland. At which point, things moved to Def Con Four in the Oliver Scale.

Oliver could blend in perfectly, except when he chose not to. And if he spotted some twerp leaning in too close, then he usually chose not to.

That line had been at the back of the cafe, and Felicity had been right by the front window, and only standing next to the guy. Even so, she still felt the heat of Oliver’s stare.

The guy had backpeddled like he’d seen a guy in a hockey mask coming for him.

Felicity had to bite her lip to stop her smile. “Behave,” she had mouthed, noting the foot of space the line had instinctively given him.

Usually, stage four somehow led to a faster line. Strange that.

Today, fortunately, Oliver makes it to the counter before he could make it to Stage Four. Felicity watched him balance a tray as he wove back to their table, proudly setting a mug directly in front of her. “Thank you,” she said, ignoring Oliver’s little eye roll in favour of the proud set of his shoulders.


End file.
